


State of Mind

by BlazingStarInInkyBlackness



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Friendship, I know it looks bad but there's happy bits in it, M/M, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness/pseuds/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness
Summary: Thomas Jefferson was fifteen when he was disowned.Alexander Hamilton was eighteen when he was raped.They met at eighteen, two broken pieces who chose to fit together.





	State of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Don't judge James or Eliza. They're trying.

Thomas Jefferson was fifteen years old, eleven months when he came out to his family. Afterwards he felt a freedom in his chest he hadn’t felt since he first realised what homophobia was. The freedom was shut down when his father, in an icy cold voice, ordered him out.

There were screams and cries but Thomas didn’t understand. All he knew was that he had ten minutes to pack his bags and that his face was aching from where his father had just punched him.

His first stop was James. James opened the door, took one look at Thomas and guessed. He pulled Thomas close and Thomas finally let the tears come. He didn’t know how long he sobbed into James’ shoulder but it felt like not long enough.

 

Thomas Jefferson was sixteen years old, one month, when he was officially diagnosed with depression. When he told James his friend worried at his lip and began asking questions. Thomas listened for a while but when his answers had passed monosyllabic, into just gestures, James gave up.

Thomas walked up the stairs to the guest bedroom he was sleeping in and collapsed onto the bed. It wasn’t his bed, it wasn’t his room or his house. He didn’t have any of that. He knew James was worried, had been worried ever since he’d seen the long blood-red lines across Thomas’ arms.

Thomas didn’t care. He closed his eyes. He didn’t care if he opened them again.

 

Thomas Jefferson was sixteen years, four months, when he tried to kill himself for the first time. James and his family was out of the house and would be for several hours.

Each step seemed too heavy and he knew he was crying. He didn’t stop. He needed to do this quickly and cleanly. He had decided, months before, that hanging would be best. A horrific sight for James to find but not a gruesome one at least.

He left a note, he was nothing if not stereotypical. He didn’t remember what he wrote. He didn’t think it really mattered.

When he heard James’ voice shouting at him, ordering him to not die, not yet, not now, Thomas couldn’t do anything apart from cough weakly. James ripped away the noose from Thomas’ throat and Thomas began to sob, begging for it back.

Those words made James pause for just long enough to pull Thomas into a tight hug, as if that would make him want to stay.

 

Thomas Jefferson was sixteen years, nine months, when his fifth attempt failed. Well, when his fifth attempt was derailed.

He was sitting on a bridge, staring at the water beneath him when the man approached. He didn’t question Thomas, didn’t order him to come back to safety. They both knew that Thomas could pitch forward just a few degrees and it would be over.

Thomas hoped it would be over. His wrists were scarred from where he’d ripped blades across it in a desperate bid for freedom. His neck still had fading bruises from his last attempt. His entire body was riddled with scars from his own hand.

The man started to speak and just talked, talked about how his day had been and how he thought tomorrow would be. When he was done with his cigarette he stomped it out and went to leave.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to not do it?” Thomas asked softly. The man turned back and shrugged.

“In my experience, that doesn’t help.”

“Have you-”

“No. But I work near here. The number of kids who end up here is a lot. The number of kids who end up at the bottom is about the same. I can’t force you to want to live.”

“I’m not a kid.” Thomas muttered out. The man nodded and turned to leave. Thomas stared at him before he called out. “Wait.”

“What is it, kid?”

“Should I?”

“I dunno. Why’re you doing it?”

“My family disowned me. I’m living with a friend and I know his parents hate it. He doesn’t like it either. They’re going to kick me out at some point. I just- I want it all to stop.”

“Kid,” the man snorted, “there’s a much easier way to do that.”

“What?” Thomas asked in confusion. The man walked back and pulled a bag out of his jacket. Thomas stared at the syringe inside and then stared at the man. “Is that-”

“You wanna kill yourself then I can’t stop you. You want to numb everything? I can help with that.” The man passed Thomas the bag who examined it with a frown.

“I want it.”

“Get off the damn railings then.”

Thomas navigated his way back to the steady ground and then stared at the man.

“What’s the cost?”

“A kiss?”

“What?” Thomas asked in surprise. The man chuckled and leant down. He kissed Thomas gently and when he pulled back Thomas felt his heart do something funny in his chest.

“Payment’s done then.” The man whispered. “What’s your name kid?”

“Thomas Jefferson.”

“John Adams. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Thomas injected for the first time that night. For a few blissful hours he was nowhere. He was nothing. He could almost imagine he was dead without the nasty side effect of James’ disappointed face. Thomas tried to not wonder what James would think about this new habit.

 

Thomas Jefferson was sixteen years, ten months old, when he realised he didn’t hate life. It’s awfully difficult to hate life when you don’t exist in it any more.

He met with Adams almost every day. He’d exchange kisses and money for the drugs, for the experience of letting the world vanish around him. Suicide had been so hard, the drugs were all too easy.

Thomas reminded himself that he had never been strong.

 

Thomas Jefferson was seventeen years old when James found out.

“What the fuck is this?” James asked softly. Thomas turned to him and froze as he saw the needle in his hand.

“Where did you find that?” Thomas asked, striding forwards. He reached to grab it but James pulled it back, out of Thomas’ grip.

“In your dresser.”

“You were going through my stuff.”

“Yeah! Yeah I was! So what?”

“You had no right!”

“You brought drugs into my house! I have younger brothers Thomas! How the fuck did you think that was okay?”

“Fuck off James.”

“No! Thomas this isn’t okay!”

“Give them back.”

“No.” James scoffed. “How- how long has this been going on?”

“A few months.”

“Months?”

“Yeah and they’ve been the best fucking months since this all started!”

“Thomas-” James sighed. “I- I can’t do that, okay?”

“What?”

“You can’t do drugs in this house. My parents would kill me and my brothers could get their hands on it. It’s not fair on them.”

“What are you saying?”

“I- I’m sorry.” James sighed and breathed out. “You can’t stay here anymore. You have to leave.”

 

Thomas arrived at Adams’ house soaking wet, with the same two suitcases he’d had when he’d left his own home. Adams took one look at him before he opened the door fully and let him in. He pressed a kiss to Thomas, ignoring the sobs running through the teen’s body.

“James kicked me out.” Thomas sobbed.

“It’s okay kid. It’s okay.”

“I- I need something. Anything!”

“I got you.” Adams pulled Thomas further into the house. As they went he tugged off Thomas shirt. Thomas let it happen, just following Adams numbly. “Sit down.” Adams gestured to a seat and Thomas sat. Adams pulled down his pants and Thomas shifted.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re cold, you can’t stay in those clothes.”

“Don’t have any dry ones.”

“We’ll fix that. You don’t need any right now.”

“What?” Thomas watched as the needle was pressed into his arm. He watched the liquid making its way into his veins and let his eyes fall closed. Adams bent down to kiss him and Thomas arched into the kiss.

“Stand up now.” Adams whispered, tugging the teen up. Thomas stumbled slightly as Adams pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

 

Thomas Jefferson was seventeen years old, one month, when he finally agreed that he was dating Adams. Each moment of his day he could he spent with Adams, normally high out of his mind.

They kissed and fucked when Adams wanted, sometimes when there were drugs in his system and sometimes when he wasn’t. The pain Adams inflicted helped, helped focus his mind like self-harm always had.

 

Thomas Jefferson was seventeen years old, five months, when Adams hospitalised him.

He lay in bed, refusing to talk about the drugs in his system and didn’t care when they stuck needles into him. He couldn’t summon the energy to be angry anymore, to be anything anymore. He didn’t want to be alive, he just wanted to float into nothingness.

When he got home Adams kissed him, begged his forgiveness over and over until Thomas nodded. He took the syringe and plunged it into his arm, gasping as he felt his grip on the world slide away. It was all he wanted, all he needed.

He let it happen, let it all happen.

The next time Adams lifted his fist in anger Thomas didn’t try to stop him, didn’t bother. He knew that as soon as it was over he’d be given a needle that he could press in and ignore the world all over again.

James cornered him on one of the rare days he went to school.

“Thomas, what’s going on?”

“What?”

“You-” James sighed and shook his head. “You’re still using aren’t you? Where are you living?”

“At my dealer’s house.” Jefferson laughed at that. “My boyfriend’s house.”

“Is he hurting you?” James asked softly. Jefferson looked at him in surprise and James sighed.

“You’ve got bruises all the way across your face. I know I kicked you out but I can’t stand watching you like this. It’s-”

“You’re right. You kicked me out. I went to you, I went to you with-”

“No. You don’t get to pull that card. You were using. You’re still using! I can’t involve my siblings in that bullshit. As long as you refuse to quit then I can’t bring you into my house. It’s not fair.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“What?”

“Say he is.” Thomas’ voice was dull and it terrified James. “Say he’d beating me regularly. Say he’s drugging me then fucking me. Say he’s hospitalised me. What are you going to do?”

“Thomas-” James breathed out in horror. Thomas shrugged.

“You’re not going to do anything. No-one will. Why bother pretending? Why- why bother?”

The next day, Thomas wasn’t in school.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years, two months old, when Adams kicked him to the curb. Thomas had tried to take more, had tried to overstep the rules Adams had given him.

He’d fought back and argued until he’d been punched into unconsciousness. When he’d woken he was in the porch with his two suitcases that he was tired of living out of.

He arrived at James’ door again, this time a lot more bedraggled. James watched him and sighed.

“Are you still using?”

“I don’t have anything.”

“You’re still using though.”

“Yeah.” Thomas shrugged. “I need somewhere for a month James. Then I’ll go to college. I’ll be out of your hair I just- I just need a month. Please.”

“Nothing in the house. Nothing. Don’t get high in here, don’t come back high. If you break the rules then you’re out. I can’t-”

“I get it.” Thomas nodded. “Thank you.”

“God I missed you.” James pulled Thomas close and Thomas felt himself break down all over again.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years, four months old, when he met Alexander Hamilton.

Thomas was walking back from a club, buzzed with enough alcohol that he could almost ignore the sting from the needle. The world was so far away, nothing was real.

Then there was a scream, a sob and silence. Thomas looked and frowned as he saw a boy curled up in the alley. Thomas just stared for a long moment before he walked towards the boy. He didn’t say anything, just sat down next to him.

“What the fuck do you want?” The boy snapped out. Thomas shrugged and leant his head against the wall.

“Want to get high.”

“Looks like you already did that.”

Thomas chuckled. “Yeah. I did.”

“Fuck off.”

“Rude.”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re crying alone in an alley. Something’s probably gone wrong in your life.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“It really doesn’t. Dunno if I’ll remember this tomorrow. That’s the best bit. You can tell me anything.”

There was silence before the boy started to talk.

“Girlfriend split up.”

“Wow. Why?”

“Cheated on her.”

“No longer feeling sorry.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“What?”

“I- I didn’t mean to cheat.” The boy rubbed at his eyes and hunched further in on himself.

“What? You just fall into someone?” Thomas scoffed. “Beg for forgiveness and then-”

“I didn’t mean to cheat.” The boy repeated softly. Thomas paused at that.

“What do you mean?”

“I- I got drunk.”

“Great start.” Thomas said sarcastically.

“I didn’t. I- I mean I had a drink. Then I was drunk.”

“That’s what happens when you drink.”

“Not after one beer. Somehow I was outside and there was a man and-”

“Wait, slow down. You only had one beer?”

“I- I don’t know. The man bought me a drink and then we were in the parking lot and I couldn’t move. It hurt and…” the boy trailed off into sobs and Thomas felt his heart sink. He leant his head against the wall and sighed.

“You were date raped.”

“I cheated.”

“Fucking hell.” Thomas could feel the last bits of his sobriety fleeing as he looked at the boy. “Did you explain that to your girl?”

“No. Never! She- she can’t know!”

“Why not?”

“She already hates me. I- I don’t want her to know that.”

“That you were raped?”

“I wasn’t raped.” The boy said sullenly. Thomas scoffed.

“That was almost word for word how someone would describe date rape.”

“Fuck off.” The boy growled. Thomas rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to force you to report it. That would be your choice. Can’t force you through it all. Give me that.” Thomas grabbed the boy’s phone and punched in his number.

“Thomas Jefferson.” The boy muttered as he read off the contact information.

“What’s your name?”

“Alexander Hamilton.”

“When you’re ready to admit you were raped and that your girlfriend is being a bitch then talk to me.” With that, Thomas stood and walked away.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, five months, when he saw Alexander a second time. Thomas was wandering the streets. It was a habit from when he lived with James. He wasn’t allowed in the house while he was high and wandering through the streets helped.

He saw a blur of movement and then he was on his back, a weight on top of him. He shifted to push it off and paused as he saw Alexander’s wild face.

“Fancy bumping into you.” Thomas muttered. Alexander squinted at him.

“You’re high.”

“You were raped.”

Alexander pushed away at that and stood. He glared down at Thomas who slowly stood.

“Fuck off.”

“Your manners haven’t improved.” Thomas brushed himself down and then looked at Alexander who was eyeing him warily.

“Why’re you high?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“Why’re you high in the middle of the night just walking around? That’s dangerous.”

Thomas laughed at that. As if dangerous mattered anymore.

“I haven’t worried about dangerous in a while.”

“Oh wow. Edgy.” Alexander responded sarcastically. He didn’t seem to want to stay but he didn’t leave.

“You told your girl yet?”

“She’s not my girl anymore.”

“So that’s a no.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Believe it or not, I do have a heart.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well aren’t you delightful.”

“Can I- can I walk with you?” Alexander asked softly.

“Why?”

“I don’t like walking in the dark.” Alexander shifted nervously and Thomas nodded.

“That’s what happens when you get raped.”

“Aren’t you meant to be more sympathetic?”

“No. I’m meant to be more high.”

“Higher.”

“Do you think I give a shit?”

“Eliza isn’t mean.” Alexander said quietly. Thomas just nodded. “I- I don’t-”

“Eliza’s your girl?”

“She’s not my girl.” Alexander snapped out. “She- she’s not.”

“You got a new girl? New guy?”

“No. My friends are just-” Alexander looked down and shook his head. “They’re her friends now.”

“How’d you mean?”

“Her sisters slapped me. My- my best friend just left and now- now I gotta find a new roommate and I-” Alexander shook his head and took in a deep breath. “My life’s kinda going to shit.” Thomas regarded Alexander for a long moment before he sighed.

“I need a roommate.”

“What?”

“I need a roommate and you seem decent.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re not going to be bringing random people back to the room and you won’t whine about me getting high.”

“Did your last roommate do that?”

“Basically.”

“Do- do you have it over the holidays as well?”

“Yeah. You fall out with your family as well?”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh. Mine kicked me out when I told them I liked guys.”

“Sorry.”

“Got me here I guess.” Thomas scoffed. “High as a kite and talking to a rape victim who refuses to admit it.”

“Not a victim.” Alexander didn’t sound so sure anymore.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, six months, when he overdosed.

It had been another night of bad memories and he’d put more than he needed to into the needle. He knew something was wrong when the hallucinations started, his father kicking him again and again until he merged with Adams until Thomas didn’t know the difference.

His screams woke Alexander who freaked out. Thomas vaguely recognised the fact that he’d thrown up when Alexander was scooting back and cursing him out. The nausea didn’t stop and he felt himself being carried to the bathroom and dumped onto the floor.

Thomas didn’t remember much of the day after that until he was at least partly conscious. Alexander watched him from the end of his bed, scowling.

“What the fuck do you want?” Thomas asked, voice scratchy.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Why not?”

“Well you can fuck off with that!” Alexander spat out. “Why not? Because I’ll have to fucking clean up! Because you woke me up screaming about how you didn’t want him to touch you!”

“Don’t fucking talk about that.” Thomas snapped out.

“It was a memory.”

“No. They were hallucinations.”

“Someone raped you.”

“Someone raped you and ruined your life! Don’t fucking lecture me about admitting stuff!”

“Who was it?”

“No-one.”

“James Reynolds.” Alexander’s voice was even.

“What?”

“James Reynolds. He deals to you. He hits his girlfriend. He r- he was the person who attacked me.”

“How long have you known that?”

“Since the day after.”

“And you just let it happen?”

“Who was it for you?” Alexander stared at Thomas who couldn’t meet his eyes. He sighed.

“John Adams. My boyfriend.”

“Never heard you talk about him.”

“He hospitalised me twice. They’re not great memories.”

“Is that why you use?”

“I use for plenty of fucking reasons.” Thomas snarled out. Alexander shrugged.

“Is that one of them?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“No. I really fucking don’t. I want to go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, eight months, when Alexander decided to tell his ex- girlfriend just what had happened.

“Are you sure?” Thomas asked. Alexander scoffed.

“You’re the one who told me to do it!”

“I- fuck. I don’t know how to approach this, okay?”

“I just- they hate me! Lafayette hates me. You wouldn’t fucking believe how difficult it is to make Laf hate anyone. I wanna talk to them like friends again. I- I want to talk to them.”

“Okay. Do you want me to be there?”

“Yeah.” Alexander responded instantly and Thomas sighed.

“Let’s go then.”

The walk was long, especially as Thomas was actually sober for once. He didn’t like it. The world felt far too focused.

When they got to the house Alexander paused.

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re all going to be there.”

“That’s the point.”

“I- what if they don’t believe me?”

“Then they’d be shit friends and you should ignore them.”

“But-”

“Nope. We’ve talked about this. You were raped. You couldn’t have stopped it. Even if you could have, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t rape or that it was okay. You were raped. They need to know that.”

“Yeah.” Alexander muttered. Before he could say anything else Thomas rang the doorbell. Alexander glared at him but let it happen. A dark skinned man with a blue bandana wrapped around his head answered the door. He caught sight of Alexander and his face darkened. He went to close the door but Thomas stepped forwards, jamming his foot into the doorframe.

“Get the hell out of here Hamilton.” The man snarled out. Alexander sighed and shook his head.

“Please Herc. I-”

“No. You-”

“He came to explain.” Thomas cut in. Hercules glanced at him.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Thomas Jefferson. I’m his roommate since you kicked him out.”

“Why do you think Eliza wants to hear anything from you, Hamilton?”

“For fucks sake!” Alexander half exploded. Thomas could see how much it was upsetting him. “Stop- stop _calling_ me that! I- I was your friend!”

“And then you cheated.”

“I didn’t! I-”

“Let us in and we’ll explain.” Thomas said softly. Hercules watched him for a moment. He sighed and opened the door.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Thank you, Herc.” Alexander mumbled out. As they walked down the corridor Alexander brushed at the edge of his eyes. Thomas had the decency to not call him out on it.

They entered the main room and Thomas paused. Hercules strode past him and sat down.

“Alexander.” One of the men stated. Alexander looked down at his feet. The man then turned to Thomas. “Who the hell are you?”

“Thomas Jefferson. I’m his roommate. Who’re you?”

“John Laurens.”

“Oh I remember! The best friend that dumped him when he needed you.”

“Thomas, don’t.” Alexander chastised him. Thomas rolled his eyes. “That’s Laf, Angelica, Peggy and-” Alexander couldn’t meet the eyes of the last woman.

“Eliza.” Thomas only half asked. She nodded and stared at Alexander.

“What do you want, Alex?”

“If you’ve come begging for my sister’s forgiveness you’re too fucking late.” Peggy snarled out. Thomas pulled back slightly, surprised at the ferociousness.

“That- that’s not- what do you mean too late?”

“She means I’ve got a girlfriend.” Eliza supplied. Alexander nodded slowly at that.

“Uh well- well done.”

“What do you want?” Eliza asked. Thomas was surprised at how calm she was, how she didn’t seem furious. She just seemed resigned.

“I- I need to explain what happened that night. It-” Alexander sighed and seemed to fall in on himself. Thomas wanted to help but he knew he couldn’t.

“You fucked someone.” John spat out. “What else is there?”

“Okay, well, you can shut up.” Thomas spat back. “You don’t have a _fucking_ clue.”

“Thomas-”

“No go on. Go on, what was the guy’s defining feature? What made him stand out to you?”

“Don’t!” Alexander hissed. Thomas shut his mouth with a snap and watched the other people in the room.

“What’s he talking about?” Angelica asked in confusion. “I thought it was a girl?”

“No it- I-” Alexander sighed. “It was Ja-James Reynolds. And I- I’d never cheat on you, Betsy. You know that. I just-” Alexander drew in a trembling breath. “He put something in my drink. Some-something that was- I- I don’t really-”

“Bullshit.” Eliza’s voice was soft but it cut through the room. Alexander stared at her in horror. “You wouldn’t have hidden that from me Alexander. The things I’ve told you, what you trusted me with, you wouldn’t have hidden that. You wouldn’t have said half the shit you did say. Don’t lie to me. Apologise if you want, stick around if you apologise. Don’t lie.”

Alexander stared at her for a moment. Thomas glanced at Alexander and then stepped forwards.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

As soon as the words were out of Thomas’ mouth, Alexander turned on his heel and ran. Thomas turned too slow and the slam of the front door echoed through the house. He paused, knowing Alexander wouldn’t want him to follow. Instead he turned on the group.

“What the fuck?” Thomas spat out. Eliza was staring after Alexander, confused. “He just fucking admitted to being raped and you call bullshit?”

“If he was raped then why tell me now? Why not when it happened?”

“Because he didn’t tell anyone! He told me because I was high and he was drunk! For fucking months I’ve tried to make him admit it was rape! He was convinced he’d cheated! He didn’t even go to the hospital when he should have because he was scared.”

“Hospital?” John asked quietly. Thomas shook his head and began to pace.

“Reynolds hurt him when he raped him. He rode that pain out on his own, outside his dorm while trying to look for a new roommate because you kicked him out.”

“Alex would’ve told us.” Hercules insisted. “He- he knows we wouldn’t’ve judged him.”

“That _fucking_ looked like judging to me.” Thomas hissed out. At a glance around the room he could see the horror was spreading, the realisation. “When you next talk to him you’d better fucking apologise. No, he didn’t tell any of you. He didn’t tell anyone because he thought you were going to judge him or laugh at him. Congratulations. You just did both.”

With that Thomas strode from the house and slammed the front door with more strength than was necessary.

 

Thomas strode back to his room and saw Alexander lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Thomas saw the needle in his hand and sighed.

“Who says I hadn’t already used that needle?”

“You’re smart enough to not reuse.”

“Dumb enough to get hooked.” Thomas idly wondered if Alexander had left enough for him. He then forced that thought from his mind. He couldn’t think like that now, Alexander needed him. Thomas laid down next to Alexander and stared at the ceiling.

“It hurt. It hurt like hell. I- I sometimes wonder why he did it to me. Did he see it? Did he see that I- my mama- did he see that?”

“What?”

“She was a prostitute. Was that what he saw? I’m just a whore’s son. I-”

“I’ve fucked people for drugs.” Thomas said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“When did that start?”

“Adams. Most of it did.”

“Why?”

“I was going to kill myself. He gave me some drugs and asked for a kiss. Then it was more kisses and then it was fucks instead of kisses. Didn’t matter.”

“He hospitalised you, right?” Alexander nuzzled closer to Thomas who nodded.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“He hit me.”

“No I mean- how did he do it several times?”

“I was living with him.”

“Why?”

“My friend kicked me out. Found out that I was using. Arrived at Adams’ and then I spent the rest of the time there. Left a month before I went here. Went back to live with the friend.”

“He hit you.”

“A lot.”

“Why didn’t you make it stop?”

“Why should I? The drugs would have stopped.”

“The drugs were worth getting the shit kicked out of you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Thomas chuckled. “I guess it is.” Alexander turned to him and studied his face for several long moments. “What are you thinking?”

“Did he rape you?” Alexander asked softly. Thomas nodded.

“He forced me a few times. Threatened me a lot. Drugged me a lot as well. Paralysis stuff. Hated it.”

“Why do you have the scars?”

“Scars?”

In response Alexander tugged Thomas’ sleeves up. Thomas sighed.

“Depression. Diagnosed a few years ago. Treatment didn’t work.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

Thomas almost missed Alexander’s words. Then Alexander’s lips were on his. Thomas let it happen for a moment and then pushed away.

“You’re high. You’re upset. I’m not doing anything.”

“Spoilsport. What if I want it?”

“Tough.”

“I want you to hurt me.”

“Tough.”

“I deserve to hurt.”

“No Alexander.” Thomas pulled Alexander close as the boy began to sob. “No you don’t.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, nine months, when Alexander asked if they could fuck.

Thomas stood and left the room.

He ignored how his throat closed with the idea of sex, of being pinned down while his mind couldn’t do anything. He ignored the fear that pressed through him.

Instead he rushed to one of his dealers, pushed money into their hand and dug the needle in.

When he did return to the room Alexander didn’t press the question. He sat on his bed, staring at Thomas.

“I’m sorry.” Alexander said softly.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, ten months, when Alexander moved out. Apparently Lafayette, John and Hercules had got their shit together enough that they could live with Alexander again. Alexander half-heartedly offered a room to Thomas but he refused it.

He didn’t belong with Alexander’s other friends.

He was terrified that he belonged alone.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eighteen years old, eleven months, when he had sex for the first time that wasn’t for drugs. He was high out of his mind, barely remembered it the next morning, but he ranked it amongst his list of recovery.

He could wear short sleeves again and he could fuck someone.

His list wasn’t great.

When he got back to his room he couldn’t feel excited about that bit of his recovery. He didn’t want to have sex.

He didn’t notice when he started crying. He didn’t think it mattered. He didn’t have James’ shoulder to cry into anymore.

He didn’t have anyone.

 

Thomas Jefferson was nineteen years old when he got a call from home.

His father was dead.

Thomas didn’t even know how he got to Alexander’s house. He pushed his way inside and ignored Lafayette’s shout of surprise. He pushed forwards until Alexander was in front of him.

“Thomas?” Alexander asked warily. Thomas stared at him for a moment before he pushed Alexander into the wall. He kissed the boy roughly, needing the pain.

“Fuck me.” Thomas hissed. “Fuck me hard.”

“You’re high.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Thomas held his head just a few centimetres from Alexander’s. “Fuck me.”

“No.”

“Don’t want me anymore?”

“What is happening Alexander?”

Thomas ignored the voice. He pulled back from Alexander and stared at him.

“Thomas are you-” Alexander was cut off as Thomas punched him. Alexander stared at him in shock and Lafayette yelped. “Wha-” Thomas hit him again and Alexander hit him back.

“What are you going to do?” Thomas hissed out. Lafayette stared at them and stepped between.

“Stop! What is going on?”

“Fuck off, Frenchie.” Thomas spat out. Lafayette glared at him.

“What’s wrong Thomas?”

“Nothing!”

“You’re high!”

“I’m always high.” Thomas laughed coldly. “What changes?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Fuck off.” Thomas snapped. He turned on his heels and went to stride away. Before he could, Lafayette grabbed his shoulder. Thomas responded on instinct and whirled, pinning him to the wall and preparing to punch him. Lafayette gasped in surprise and Thomas paused.

“Thomas, let go.” Alexander said softly. “Laf’s got nothing to do with this.”

Thomas nodded shakily and released Lafayette, taking several stumbling steps backwards. Alexander was there in a moment, hand resting on Thomas’ shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“Need to go.” Thomas mumbled before he stumbled from the room. Alexander ran after him but Thomas could run faster, with his much longer legs. He got to his room first and locked the door.

Alexander had long since given his key back.

Thomas sank onto his bed. He thought he should be crying but he couldn’t summon the energy. He knew that if James was there he’d say that Thomas was relapsing, sinking into the horror pit that was his depression.

James wasn’t there.

Thomas ignored when Alexander started to knock.

 

Thomas Jefferson was nineteen years old, one month, when Alexander cornered him. Thomas had been avoiding him very well. Then Alexander got wise to his tactics. He found his weakness.

“Someone came around here asking after you.” Reynolds muttered. Thomas looked up in surprise at that.

“Who?”

“Dunno. Some big black guy.”

“Did he look like me?”

“Not much.”

“Did he give a name?”

“Nah. Looked like he wanted to kill someone though. I’d mind yourself. Can’t lose my best customer.” With that, Reynolds pushed Thomas into the brick wall behind him. Thomas let his eyes fall closed as he heard Reynolds unbuckle his belt.

When Reynolds was done, Thomas stabbed the needle into his arm. He knew that if Hercules was asking after him then Alexander would be there. He couldn’t summon the energy to care. Thomas got halfway back to his room before Alexander appeared.

“You’re still dealing with Reynolds.” Alexander’s voice was soft and Thomas sighed.

“Yeah.”

“You know what he did.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what he did to me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you do it then?”

“Because his prices are cheap.”

“What are they?”

“Me.”

“He fucks you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Alexander sounded outraged but Thomas just shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“So all that stuff about not sleeping with me. Was that all bullshit?”

“Don’t sleep with people if there isn’t something in it for me.”

“Well that’s fucked up on so many levels.” They walked in silence for a moment before Alexander started talking again. “So you’re okay with him fucking you?”

“Does it sound like I’m fucking alright?” Thomas half screamed. He could feel himself hovering on the edge of numbness and sorrow. “I-” Thomas shook his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“If you don’t want to fuck him then-”

“Then what? I use my inheritance? I’ve only got so much left. I know they’ll fuck me for a long time.”

“You’ll just accept it?”

“Fuck you. I’ll do whatever I fucking have to.”

“Why?” Alexander cried. He stepped in front of Thomas and forced him to stop. “I don’t fucking get you! I explained everything to you! I explained the hurricane and the deaths and the- the rape!”

“Fuck off.”

“No! You didn’t tell me anything apart from when I’m high! When you know I probably won’t even remember it. Why?”

“My father’s dead!” Thomas shouted. Alexander stumbled back and stared at him. Thomas took in a deep breath. “My father was abusive. He disowned me at fifteen. I lived with James. I tried to kill myself five times until I found Adams. He beat me and raped me. I let it happen because I fucking deserve it. My abusive father is dead and I- I-” Thomas felt the wave of sorrow hit him and he collapsed to the floor.

Alexander pulled him close as Thomas began to sob, great heaving sobs that ripped through the air.

“Is- isn’t this the ti-time you say something ni-nice?” Thomas hiccupped out.

“What the fuck am I meant to say?” Alexander sighed. He pulled Thomas close and shifted him so that he was covered from the world. “I’m sorry for the shit hand life gave you.” Thomas nodded and tried to force his breath to even out.

It took several long minutes but eventually Thomas’ sobs died down to nothing.

“Haven’t told anyone that.” Thomas said softly.

“There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Not much I haven’t told you. I thought I loved Adams. He was using me. As time went on he got more abusive. Didn’t fucking figure it out. He told me it was love. Told- told me it was all I was useful for.”

“It’s not. He was lying.”

“Was he? In- in the end I just- I’m not worth anything else. I can’t get clean. I can’t make myself want to fuck people. I can’t- I’m fucking astonished I haven’t been expelled yet. It’s- I am useless.”

“No. No you’re fucking not.” Alexander sighed. “You got through it. You-”

“Never got clean. Never- I disappointed James so many fucking times. I disappointed you. I-” Thomas sniffed and shook his head. “I want it to end Alexander. I- I want to end it.”

“Fuck. No. No god, please no. You- you were the first person I told about Reynolds. It wasn’t because you were the only one there. Do you- do you know how many people walked past me? My best friends didn’t believe that I didn’t cheat. Even when I explained it, they needed you to back it up. I was just a victim that no-one cared about and you actually- you stopped. You talked to me.”

“I was high.”

“You’re always high.”

Thomas huffed a shaky breath at that and nodded.

“How did he die?”

“Heart attack.”

“Are you going to be at his funeral?”

“I- I didn’t listen to the voicemails. He’s already been buried. Was by the time I found out. My family wouldn’t want me there. They-” Thomas shrugged. He pulled back slightly from Alexander and sighed. “They can’t accept me unless I say I’m straight. When Adams happened they visited me in the hospital the first time. They said that if I admitted I was faking it then I could go home. I- the abuse didn’t matter to them. Just the fact that it was a man. I was nothing.”

“They sound like shitty parents.”

“They weren’t. They loved me.”

“People who love you don’t abandon you cause you like dicks.”

“I kept on wondering after that, if I- if I had just had sex with women, if I’d settled with a women, what would have happened?”

“Then you’d be stuck in the closet with parents who hate you.”

“Adams wouldn’t’ve happened.”

“I wouldn’t’ve happened.” Alexander pointed out softly. Thomas glanced at him and nodded. “Do you regret me?”

“Fuck no. You’re just about the best thing that’s happened to me so far.”

“That’s kinda pathetic.”

“Well fuck you too.” Thomas scoffed and Alexander grinned.

“Do you want to fix the rest of that stuff?”

“What?”

“Do you want to get clean?”

“I- I don’t know.” Thomas sighed. “There’s no point. I might- I might kill myself tomorrow or-”

“There is a point. If you die now then they’ll have fucking won. Got it? Your parents, Adams, Reynolds, all of them. They’ll have beaten you.”

“They already have!”

“No! They hurt you. They hurt us. We can let that destroy us but I’m not fucking going to let it!”

“Is this the part you give an impassioned speech?” Thomas scoffed and shook his head. “I’m tired Alexander. I- I just want it to stop.”

“Please Thomas just- just try for me okay?”

“What?”

“Get sober. Try to survive.”

“Live for you?”

“No. Live to beat those assholes.”

“I- I don’t think I can do that.” Thomas whispered. Alexander nodded.

“Try. Please.”

Thomas stared at Alexander for a long moment before he ducked his head and sighed. He was going to regret this.

“Okay.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was nineteen years old, two months, when he went into therapy. He sat in the waiting room, avoiding every other eye in the room.

He stared at the therapist as she asked question after question that he didn’t want to answer. When she mentioned reporting Adams, Thomas stood and left. His fingers itched for the needle he knew was hidden in his room.

Instead he went on a walk. He ignored his phone ringing. He knew it was Alexander and he knew he didn’t want to talk to him.

When he returned to his room Alexander was there with wide eyes and a nervous jiggling.

“I didn’t do anything.” Thomas said softly. Alexander watched him, only half believing him.

“What happened?”

“She said I should press charges.”

“On who?”

“Whom.”

“Fuck off.”

“Adams.” Thomas sighed and sat down on his bed. “No point with my dad, is there?”

“Was your dad the only family member who hit you?”

Thomas didn’t respond. Alexander sighed.

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to report Reynolds.” Alexander admitted quietly. “I- it’s bad enough having to see him. I don’t want to tell people what happened. I don’t want to tell everyone it happened. I don’t want people to look at me differently.”

“He could do it to someone else.”

“I know. I just- I know that if I report him, if I go through all of that, it’ll ruin my life. I can’t let him do that. I’m sorry for the next person but I can’t do that to myself.”

“I could report him.”

“And then he could report you. The court could see it as prostitution rather than rape. You could be arrested for possession. You could do it but you have a fuckton to lose.”

“I- I just- I don’t want him to get away with it. I want Adams to hurt. I want to hurt him.”

“Then report it.”

“It happened years ago.”

“How old were you when you met him?”

“Sixteen. Seventeen when I moved in. It’s too long.”

“How about, next time you go to the therapist you tell her.”

“I-” Thomas nodded. “Yeah. I- I think that’d be good.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was nineteen years old, three months, when he relapsed.

It had become too much, suddenly. Every thought had crashed in on him and there hadn’t been anyone to stop him from running to Reynolds.

He sat in his dorm room, the needle against his arm, sobbing. He didn’t want to relapse. He could just throw the needle away. He considered it for several long moments.

Thomas plunged the needle into his arm and sighed at the sensation. It was so much better to ignore the world. He didn’t want anything to do with it.

The next day, Alexander was there. He didn’t say he was disappointed or that Thomas was a failure. He asked what had been the breaking point and promised it would never get to that point again. He kissed Thomas and that was enough to make him break down into tears all over again.

 

Thomas Jefferson was twenty years old, one month, when he realised he didn’t want to die. It was somewhere in the back of his mind that if it happened he wouldn’t argue but he didn’t actively want it anymore.

When he mentioned it to Alexander the boy literally jumped for glee and caught him in a kiss. Thomas batted him away with a smile that felt genuine.

“You’re an idiot.” Thomas scoffed. Alexander nodded.

“Your idiot.”

“Obviously.”

 

Thomas Jefferson was twenty years old, two months, when Alexander met James.

James had decided to visit Thomas, finally. Thomas had been wheedling James about it for months and finally the gap that they’d been waiting for had arrived. Alexander had been grumpy about it for some reason that Thomas didn’t understand.

As soon as Thomas spotted James he rushed forwards and hugged him. It felt so fucking right to have his friend back with him after so long.

“Hey James.” Thomas said softly, disentangling himself.

“Hey Thomas. Who’s this?”

“I’m Alexander Hamilton. His boyfriend.” Alexander stared at James with anger in his eyes. Thomas pushed him gently.

“Play nice.”

Alexander muttered something at that which Thomas ignored.

On the ride back, Alexander didn’t say a word. Thomas and James kept up a conversation but the atmosphere in the car became more strained with every moment Alexander stayed silent.

“Well I’ll take your bags.” Thomas muttered when they entered the house. “You two have fun.”

“Thomas-” James said, warningly. Without a moment of hesitation Thomas grabbed James’ suitcases and rushed up the stairs. When he reached the top he sighed. He wasn’t sure he could cope if Alexander and James didn’t get along. They were the only people he had.

When he walked back down the stairs he heard voices coming from the room.

“You kicked him out when he needed you.” Alexander said, angrily.

“Yeah.” James’ voice wasn’t argumentative, just accepting.

“You removed his support system.”

“Yeah.”

“You took any hope of recovery away from him!”

“Yeah.”

“How can you be this fucking calm?”

“I know what I did Alexander. I didn’t handle it right but I don’t know what else I should have done.”

“Stuck around!”

“My brothers could have taken the drugs. My parents could have found them. They would have given him to the police.”

“You chucked him out with no-where to live!”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think would happen?”

“I thought he’d go home. I thought he did. He came into school with bruises and I thought it was his family. When I realised it wasn’t, he wasn’t coming into school most days. I didn’t get many conversations and I didn’t want to push him away more.”

“So you just stood by when you saw abuse?”

“Any time I said anything, Thomas blanked me and didn’t come into school the next day. I couldn’t help him. I just had to be there. When Adams kicked him out I was there. I took him back. I did everything I could.”

“You didn’t make him get help.”

“Have you worked out how difficult it is to make Thomas Jefferson do anything? I couldn’t do anything until he wanted to. He never did.”

“Why not?”

“Home was a minefield. His family was in the same town, we’d see them sometimes. There were rumours and there were bullies. I don’t blame Thomas for not wanting to be there half the time. He chose to leave and he chose drugs. I blame him for that.”

“He’s addicted!”

“I’d fucking noticed.” James hissed out. “You don’t get to tell me that! I-”

“Stop it.” Thomas said, stepping into the room. James and Alexander looked ready to attack each other. Thomas gestured to the seats and the two sunk down into them. “Alexander, don’t yell at James. It’s not his fault.”

“How much did you hear?” James asked. Thomas shrugged.

“Most of it.”

“This is why I didn’t want him here.” Alexander folded his arms and sunk down in his seat. Thomas rolled him eyes.

“You could have fucking told me that before he arrived. He’s my friend Alexander.”

“He stood by and did nothing.”

“No he didn’t.” Thomas began to massage his temples and took in a deep breath. “He didn’t know most of it. He let me stay in his house even when he knew I was using.”

“You’re sober.” James said softly, in surprise. Thomas turned to him.

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long?”

“Just over a year now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Alexander asked in amazement. Everyone else knew.

“I- I was going to. Before my first relapse. Then I was just- I didn’t.”

“Not an answer.” Alexander pointed out. Thomas rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t want to tell him I’d relapsed. That I’d fucked it all up.”

“Thomas,” James shook his head. “The fact that you’re sober is fucking astonishing.”

“Been a few years, hasn’t it?” Thomas shifted slightly as he spoke.

“Is it worth it?”

“I don’t know.” Thomas admitted quietly.

“Has the- the other stuff, has that relapsed?”

“Are you asking if I’ve tried to kill myself again?” Thomas scoffed when James nodded. “No. I haven’t. Haven’t even come close to be honest.”

“The self-harm?”

“Nope. I’m almost healthy.”

“Fuck.” James smiled and stood, bringing him into another hug. Thomas pulled him close and let his eyes slide closed. This one felt so much better than the others, when he had come back to James because he didn’t have anything else. He knew he had other people, he had Alexander and the whole bizarre group Alexander came with. He came back to James because he chose it.

“I reported Adams.” Thomas admitted softly. James pulled back and stared at him in surprise.

“What?”

“I- I told the police what he did to me. They’re opening the case now. He’ll probably get time for the assault and the- the-” Thomas took in a deep breath.

“The rape.” Alexander supplied. Thomas nodded. “Dunno what’ll happen to the drug charges but he’ll still be in prison for a while.”

“Are you going to report the dealers here?”

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “One of them might be arrested but that’s not because of me.”

“What?”

“He- he hurt someone I care about.”

James glanced at Alexander who had carefully schooled his expression into a neutral mask.

“You should’ve told me this.” James said, with a smile. “I can’t believe you didn’t!”

“Didn’t wanna disappoint you.”

“You couldn’t. Not really.” James stepped forwards and pulled Thomas into another hug. Thomas felt himself break down, sobs running through his body. In a moment there was another body pressed against him as Alexander hugged him tight enough for Thomas to pretend he could never be hurt again.

 

Thomas Jefferson was twenty three years old, five months, when he realised he really didn’t want to die. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do with the information. Alexander would grin and say that he’d always been right. James would hug him so tight Thomas was scared one of them would end up with broken ribs.

Thomas didn’t tell anyone. Maybe that was selfish. He didn’t care.

He kept his realisation close to him, it seemed to warm him even on the darkest day. When he curled into Alexander at night it was like a flame burning away within him. It didn’t force him to scratch at his arms until they bled or run to the nearest dealer. It just reminded him that he was there, he was still alive.

He’d beaten everyone who had said he couldn’t survive it.

He’d won.

It felt like defeat, every time he saw his scars it felt like defeat. When he needed the drugs to let him sleep, when he relapsed, when he couldn’t cope with Alexander’s gentle touches, when he couldn’t get through a day without crying, it felt like defeat.

It felt like nothing had been worth it, as if he’d failed time and time again.

But he forced himself up.

And he always would.

That was all the victory he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> (GUESS WHO FINISHED YORKTOWN 2!)  
> (not me. I'm like 500 words off tho. So that might come out in the next two weeks? hopefully)  
> See you next time!


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